In the Pines
by AIs4Awsome
Summary: Living in the harsh poverty of the Appalachian mountains, seventeen year old Tess Tassey has quit school to care for her mentally ill mother and three siblings while her father deals with his own demons brought on by illegally distributing meth. Tess struggles to come to terms with her family's plight until she meets a strange boy in the woods and everything changes...
1. Chapter 1

IN THE PINES

"_Where did you sleep last night/in the pines/in the pines/where the sun never shine/I would shiver the whole night through_." - Where Did You Sleep Last Night by Leadbelly

"_Well, you may throw your rock and hide your hand/Workin' in the dark against your fellow man/But as sure as God made black and white/What's down in the dark will be brought to the ligh_t." - God's Gonna Cut You Down by Johnny Cash

The early morning air is rank with the smell of coming flurries and meat. Deer carcasses, pale, naked and gleaming with fat in the dying sunshine, hang by thick rope from the sagging sapling limbs next to the meat shed. One of Dad's mangy old hunting dogs skulks out from underneath the porch and trots silently across the frozen yard, nose pressed firmly to the ground. It's swollen worm-filled belly swings back and forth like a pendulum as it begins circling hungrily round the shed. Heavy snow clouds loom glumly in the not-too-far-off distance and a chafing wind blows down into the valley, sending the skinned torsos twirling from the bare skeleton-like branches. Venison left to the elements for three to four days sweetens the meat all the way down to the bone, rounds out the flavor, Dad had said as he hung them up; yet another of his old hunting secretes completely wasted on me.

I shove the hood of my jacket over my ponytail and watch the dead animals sway drunkenly in the frigid breeze. I shudder. It's only the first week of November but already feels like mid-December; this morning I'd woken up to discover the coming weather had frozen the wash hanging outside, turning Dad's t-shirts and Mom's elastic lined underthings into solid planks of ice. I'd stretched the clothes line into the kitchen and above the wood stove before daybreak, forced to dry each piece of clothing one at a time. I only got half way through Dad's shirts when I ran out of kindling. Considering Dad used up all the gas for the chainsaw, I'm going to have to split what I can with the axe before the first snow falls and winter blows it's way into the valley. Unsurprisingly, Dad hadn't cut any wood before he took off Friday morning for an impromptu "weekend with the boys"; meaning he's back to cooking up crank with Skinny Briggs and Carl Forrester at the abandoned hunting camp up on Ridgewood Point. He'd left only a little food and no money, but promised he'd be back soon with a fat wad of cash and a truckload of meat that'd last us the whole winter. Dad has this annoying habit of uttering quick pleading promises that make it easy for him to be out of the door and gone or come back and be forgiven.

The screen door gives a loud squeak behind me and my ten year old brother, Danny, sticks his blonde head round the door frame. His hair, long overdue for a cut, is a good inch too long in the front and hangs in his eyes, giving him a slightly dopey expression. He's wearing nothing but a pair of faded red long johns and a grin. Fidgeting from foot to foot, he raises his chin, gesturing towards the meat.

"Think Dad'd notice if we stole some for dinner tonight?"

"Probably."

"Even just a little?"

"Wouldn't doubt it."

"You sure? You know there ain't nothing in the pantry, right?"

"I know it."

"Maybe he'll come home tomorrow so wasted he won't notice..."

Quick as lightening, I snatch his nearest ear and twist it, hard, watching his pale face screw up with pain. He begins swatting at me, skinny arms flailing spastically.

"Leggo, Tess! Jesus!"

"You don't even _think_ about stealing that meat." I hiss, twisting harder, "Or any of Dad's meat. You hear?"

I release him suddenly and he falls back against the door jamb, rubbing furiously at his smarting ear.

"I'm cold." he whines. "Is grits really all we got?"

"Just drown 'em in butter. We still got some in the fridge."

He makes a face.

"Nuh huh. Not since Thursday."

Fuck me.

He opens the door wide and I follow him into the house and down the narrow front hall into the cramped kitchen/den. Mom sits in her padded chair beside the pot bellied stove, rocking and staring vacantly into space. Her morning pills have turned her into a cat, a breathing thing that sits near heat and occasionally makes a sound. I can just barely hear her humming snippets of a nameless tune that starts and ends in shaky fits. Most days she's silent and still, a distant smile permanently plastered across her worn face that reveals little of the strange things going on inside her head. Other days, she's a wall of talk, whispering and muttering vague things under her breath. I used to think she was only talking to herself until I figured out that she was, in fact, holding a one sided conversation with her long dead sister, April. I like to think it's just her pills talking, mostly because I can't handle the idea of having the ghost of Mom's pretty dead sister in the house. Mom'd been pretty too, once, a long time ago, but now she's little more than a slowly decaying shadow, doped up and lost to the present, her mind broken up into a thousand scattered pieces.

Across from the stove, my six year old sister, Katie, sits on the plastic covered sofa with her plate in her lap, making little piles of charred grits with her fingers. Her dog, a three legged miserable little stray named Skeet, whines pitifully from underneath the ink stained coffee table.

"Katie Dawn, you stop playin' with your food and finish those grits." I say, ruffling her messy honey colored curls as I pass by her on my way to the sink to start dishes. " An' hurry up or you're gonna miss the bus."

"I don't wanna go to school." Danny says from the kitchen table. He leans his head in one hand and shoves his empty plate towards the middle of the table with the other. The heel of his palm pulls the left side of his mouth into an ugly sneer

"You're goin' to school, Danny."

"I feel sick."

"You ain't sick."

"I think I gotta temperature."

"Take a Tylenol."

Danny glowers at me while Mom begins singing softly to herself;

"_One I love, two he loves, three he's true to me...Over the mountains he must go because his fortune is so low. With an aching heart and a troubled mind for leaving his love so far behind..."_

"I don't wanna go to school." Danny says again, a little too loudly. Mom jumps, clutches at the sides of her chair.

"You're fuckin' goin' to school, Danny."

"You're fucking going to school, Danny." Katie parrots gleefully, slamming her fork against her plate. Mom flinches but doesn't make a sound. I walk over to Katie, place a finger under her chin, and tilt her face up so she has to no choice but to look me square in the eye.

"Katie, I don't _ever_ wanna hear you say that word again, understand?." I say, voice low with warning. She blinks once, twice.

"What word?"

I roll my eyes.

"C'mon, Katie. Don't you play dumb with me."

But she just looks up at me with her big blue eyes and chews her bottom lip and asks, "How come you get to say it an' I don't?"

I open my mouth but no words comes out. I'm completely stumped.

"Jesus, how many times do I hafta tell you not to swear in front of her, Tess?" I turn around and see my other sister, Willow, stomping noisily into the kitchen. I didn't even hear her come into the house this morning. She's got her fair hair pulled back into a loose, frizzy ponytail and she's wearing nothing but a pair of camo p.j. pants and an old sweat stained Deep River High hoodie. Willow is eighteen, only one year older than me, but looks to be going on twenty seven if all the makeup she's got spackled on her face is anything to go by. Kohl black eyeliner is all smudged up round her eyes, making her look as if she's half coon or something. Between the right crook of her arm and her jutting hip she balances her six and a half month old son, Nate; a tiny pink thing snuggled up in a blue Winnie the Pooh onesie.

Before I can reply Mom starts singing again, not at all soft this time.

"_They tell me he's poor, they tell me he's young, I tell them both to hold their tongue. If they could part the sand and sea then they could part my love and me..."_

I swear to God.

"Wanna help me get 'em ready?" I ask Willow, gesturing wildly at Danny and Katie, "Bus'll be along soon."

Without another word, she sets Nate up in the spare high chair in the kitchen and grabs Katie's two sizes too small winter jacket from the wooden bench in the front hall. She begins shoving her into it, muttering inaudibly under her breath. Danny sticks his tongue out at me but gets up and goes to the pile of laundry sitting in the basket on the other side of the stove. He sifts through it, searching for something to wear.

"These socks smell." he announces, holding up a pair of holey grey socks that may or may not have been white in another life.

"Just put 'em on. You're gonna miss the bus."

"No way."

"Put. 'Em. _On_."

"But they smell real bad."

"Danny..."

"I ain't wearin' no smelly socks." He says, crossing his scrawny arms stubbornly over his chest. He gives me a mean look, daring me to call him out.

"Danny, would you please, please, _please_, for the love of God, just put the fuckin' socks on! Could you do that, huh? They'll be in your boots anyway so it don't really matter."

"But..."

"Quit runnin' your mouth and put the damned socks on, Danny." Willow orders, putting on her best "Mom" voice while shooting me a pointed look over her shoulder.

"Alright,_ fine_." Danny grumbles, despite looking as if he'd rather eat an entire bowl of fish guts than put on those goddamned socks.

I let out a frustrated sigh and rub my dry, tired eyes. More often than not, I find myself worrying that by the time Danny's twelve any ounce of goodness in him will be sucked dry, replaced by hotheaded, boiling mean. So many Tassey kids have ended up that way before they even hit puberty, ruined by the poverty stricken environment in which they were raised. There are maybe sixty or so Tassey's - some of them by marriage - in Wendall County alone and more than half live precariously on the other side of the law. Despite our constant bickering, I hope to keep Danny in the minority.

I finish helping Willow tie up Katie's boots just in time to hear the school bus honking at the end of the drive.

"Come on, you two," Willow says, squatting in front of Katie on the grimy kitchen floor and tugging her hat further down over her ears . "Get your backpack's n' get on that bus, alright? An' I don't wanna see no funny business or nothin'."

Katie goes to make a run for the door but Willow stops her. "Go on and give Mama a kiss first."

Katie turns round, races back to the kitchen. She goes up on her tippy toes to give Mom a quick peck on the cheek. Mom doesn't even respond, just makes a low grunting noise. I look away, ashamed.

"Now get on." Willow says firmly, giving Katie a gentle push towards the door. She turns to Danny and places her hands squarely on her hips, Wonder Woman style.

"Come on, Danny, before Beth decides to drive off without you ."

"I'm goin', I'm goin;" he grumbles, pulling a shit brown colored hoody over his long johns. He's already squeezed himself into an old pair of jeans, ancient hand me downs from one of Bertha Coldwater's sons. I hand him my old hunting jacket from the coat rack beside the back door and he takes it from me without so much as a thank you. Willow follows him to the front door with his backpack.

I wait til the door slams behind him before I holler down the hall to Willow, "I'm gonna put another pot of coffee on. You want some?"

"Uh, Tess?"

"Yeah?"

"I think he's makin' a run for it again."

Shit. Shit. _Shit._

"You sure?"

"Yep. Looks like he's really bookin' it too."

I half run, half stumble to the front door, nearly tripping over Katie's rainbow xylophone lying in the middle of the floor. I look out the grime encrusted window; sure enough, I see my little brother running - no, _sprinting_ - down the muddy lane, towards the road . He flies right past the yellow school bus parked at the end of the drive, going just about as fast as his legs'll carry him. The hunting jacket is open and streams behind him like a camouflage cape. He turns and disappears behind the thick copse of spruce and pine at the end of the lane.

Before Willow can so much as say "Go", I'm in my boots and out on the porch. The screened door slams loudly behind me and a sudden cold gust of wind slaps me hard in the face. I take a giant leap off the front steps and land on all fours. Cold gravel stings my palms but I'm up and running again in less than half a second.

"Danny, you get back here!" I shout, sprinting to the end of the short driveway. The few kids on the bus have all gathered to the side closest to the road and are pressing their faces against the windows, trying to catch a glimpse of the spectacle unfolding before them.

Naked trees and broken down fencing that line the road wizzes by me in a blur as my heavy boots slap loudly against the ground. I make a clumsy leap over a skim of black ice, nearly trip over my own two feet. My breath is already coming out in short, heavy gasps.

"Danny!"

He whips his head round, sees me, begins pumping his legs even faster. Unfortunately, not fast enough. I'm a good arm span or so away from him when I make the big leap and tackle him - running back style - to the ground, sending dirt and mud flying. We're both breathing hard and my lungs are burning and my legs are tingling and my heart is pounding loudly in my ears but I'm somehow able to flip him over onto his back and pin his struggling arms to the dirt road with my legs, straddling him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I yell, panting hard. "Huh? What the _hell_ is wrong with you!?"

"Get off, Tess!" he just barely manages to choke out between ragged gasps. He continues to struggle, albeit unsuccessfully, beneath my grip. "You're really hurtin' my arms!"

"And you're really pissin' me off." I snap back. "You're damned lucky Dad wasn't here to see that little stunt you just pulled! He woulda been beatin' your ass black 'n blue right about now if he'd seen you runnin' off like that!"

Danny stops struggling long enough to spit out a hate filled "Fuck you, Tess."

Without thinking, I grab his shoulders with both hands and shake him, hard. His head snaps back, nearly smashing against the cold hard ground.

"You take that back, Danny."

"Nuh huh."

"You take that back right this minute." I hiss, pushing all my weight down into my legs.

"No!"

"Take it back or I'll tell Dad when he gets home."

"I ain't takin' it back."

We glare at each for twenty seconds or so in total silence. For a good long while no voices echo off the hills or saws cut in the distance. There's nothing but the small noises that make up the drawn out quiet between us; the branches of the trees creaking in the wind, the faint yip of a coyote. I can feel my legs beginning to cramp up on me but I don't dare move.

"Do you want that whole goddamned bus over there see you get beatin' up by a girl?" I ask finally, "'Cause I'm sure as hell that they'd all really love to see that. Probably won't let you ever forget it, neither"

When he doesn't immediately answer I press down even harder on him.

"No!" he gasps suddenly, voice thick with pain.

"No, you won't take it back or no, you don't wanna busload of kids seeing the shit get kicked outta you by a girl?"

"I dunno! Just git off me, Tess!"

"Then take it back!"

"You're gonna snap my arms off!" he screams.

"Four magic words, Danny." I say, leaning down and panting into his ear. "Just say the four magic words and I'll get off."

"Okay fine! I take it back! Just _get off_, Tess!"

"What's that? I can't hear you..."

"_I can't feel my arms_!"

"_Ehhhhn_, wrong answer." I say cruelly, earning me another glare.

"_I take it back!_"

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I said I take it back! Okay? _I take it back_! Just please, please, _please_ git off!"

I hesitate for a moment, pretending to consider. "If I get off do you promise not to run away again?"

"Yes!" he gasps, his face beginning to turn a dark shade of crimson from the cold and the pain.

"And do you promise to apologize to Beth for holdin' up the bus and wastin' her time?"

"Yes!"

"Good boy." I say, and give him a brisk slap on the shoulder.

I roll off him and shakily rise to my feet. I wipe the loose mud and dirt from the knees of my pajama pants and help Danny up. I'm half expecting him to take off running again but surprisingly he doesn't; instead he straightens up, pushes the hair out of his eyes and begins rubbing his arms frantically, almost desperately, trying to get the blood flowing in his arm again. I roll my eyes.

"I wasn't pressing on 'em that hard."

Danny turns and shoots me a look. I reach out and gingerly wipe the mud off the back of his coat but he pulls away from me, sulking.

"Alright, c'mon. Get your bag and get on that bus. You don't wanna make everyone late."

Danny hesitates, suddenly looking nervous. "You ain't gonna tell Dad are you?"

"Not this time, no. But if you try an' get outta going to school again I sure as shit will."

Danny's eyes dart back and forth, seeming to consider this.

"Now git." I say and give him a small kick in the rear. "An' I'll see ya'll after school."

He doesn't say anything, just takes off running back down the road in which we'd come, without so much as a backwards glance. I follow at a walk and try to ignore the cramping in my legs. I look ahead down the rutted road towards Danny's fast moving figure and the still waiting bus. Just beyond the bus, the lean shadowy outline of a coyote skitters out from the direction of Henry Wasson's cow field before disappearing into the bush on the other side of the road.

The sky overhead- now completely bloodless and drained of color - presses in on the shallow valley and begins to open up with snow.

**A/N: Hey everyone! So I am going to finish this story. I mean it, I really will (mostly because my friend said she would beat me up if I didn't. Jk jk. But seriously.). So it's kind of dark and rated T but I'll probably have to move up to M as the content becomes a bit more well...M rated, for lack of a better term. There's swearing, talk of someone being in an abusive relationship, lots of poverty etc etc. I wanted it to be sort of dark and gritty. anyway please read and review (like it? hate it? God please don't hate it...) Let me know :)**


	2. Note

Okay so just a quick authors note :)

I ended up deleting chapter two because I feel it needs a bit of a re-haul (I am SUPER critical of my writing which I think is one of the reasons I write so slow. I do A LOT of revision and editing). Anyway I'm in the process of fixing up chapter two and polishing it off and then I'll repost it. I re-edited and added a few little things to chapter one. I'm also still working on the outline as well (I'm not a "seat of the pants" writer, to quote Stephen King) and I find the plot gets a bit mushed up if I don't have a proper outline to follow. Anyway just a little heads up.

Please please please review/comment. I'd like to know whether or not I'm actually getting some readers.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: chapter two! I changed it from how I originally hat it and I'm hoping this one works out better. It's only the first half of chapter two though...I'm still working on the second half. Please let me know if you liked it/I should change anything etc.**

I haven't yet reached the front steps of the porch but already fat snowflakes, heavy with wet, have begun to cling to just about every surface in the yard; the scant woodpile, the rusted up swing set, the saplings and shanks of meat. The wind picks up, whistles round the house and tears wisps of dirty blonde hair from my ponytail. They whip across my face but I don't bother pushing them back. Frosty bits have begun to gather in my hair and on my shoulders and I give an involuntary shiver.

It's not until the wind finally calms a bit that I hear the tell-tale sound of a car pulling up into the lane behind me. I turn around to see a pair of headlights guiding a rusted red Ford up towards the house. Thick clouds of lead-grey fumes wheezes from the exhaust pipe as the engine gives a final asthmatic cough, looking like a tired old dog after a long hard run. Fear knots my stomach into nothing as I realize with sinking dread that it's none other than Sheriff Coon's truck. What the hell he's doing all he way out here, in our neck of the woods, is what I wanna know; unless, of course, there's the ever-present possibility that Dad's been caught cooking crank. _Oh shit._

The sheriff cuts the engine next to Dad's broken down Chevy, jumps down from the driver's side and makes a big show of adjusting the gun holster belted tight around his waist. Something of a Napoleon, Sheriff Nathaniel Coons stands at a diminutive five-foot-six and is skinny as a rake. He has the greasy slicked back hair of a mean man, and moves with the long, self-important strides that seems to be the exclusive domain of all Wendall County lawmen.

"Mornin'" he says, holding up a gloved hand in greeting as he makes his way across the yard towards me. He's sporting a Crest white strip worthy smile that doesn't quiet reach his eyes. I cross my arms infront of my chest and don't say anything.

"Mighty cold out, ain't it?" he says a little too cheerfully, rubbing his hands together.

I purse my lips and pull my shoulders up into an indifferent half shrug. The stiff PR smile stubbornly refuses to leave his lips.

"John around?"

I shake my head.

"What about your mama?" he presses

"Yeah, but she don't really talk much." Sheriff Coons gives me an odd look and I can feel the color rise in my neck and cheeks, like it always does when I have to explain to people about Mom. "She's sick. Real sick. Up there -" I gesture helplessly to my head, not entirely sure how else to explain it.

He seems to consider this for a moment before saying, not unpleasantly "You have any idea where I might be able to find your Daddy? I got a real bad need to talk to him."

I shake my head. "No, sir."

"When's the last time you saw him?"

"Coupla days."

"Any idea when he'll be back?"

I shake my head again and eye him down. Is it just me or is this beginning to sound suspiciously like an interrogation?

"You sure?"

I lean against the porch railing, don't say anything.

"Look," he says slowly, reasonably, no doubt picking up on my suspicions, " I ain't here to kick your Daddy's ass or lay down a bunch of charges or nothin'; least, not this time, anyway. You can tell me where he is."

"I already told you; I don't know."

He narrows his eyes at me almost accusingly and adjusts his holster again. My eyes go to the .44 at his hip without meaning to.

"Don't really know much, do you?"

"I know your wastin' my time." I say, flat as a pan.

Coons wets his lips and I know I've hit a nerve. He swallows, wipes a hand savagely across his mouth, looks at the house, then back at me. "Think maybe he's up at the ol' huntin' camp?"

I freeze. "'Scuse me?"

He raises his hands, shows his palms and shakes his head. "Look, I know your Daddy's cookin' again, but that ain't why I'm here."

"Then why the hell are you?" I ask. I stamp my feet on the porch steps, beginning to feel nervous.

Coons crosses his arms over his chest and slouches against the meat shed. A slow, hot smile stretches across his face, the total antithesis of the toothy PR grin. I don't trust it - not one bit. "Your Daddy didn't tell you, did he?"

"Didn't tell me what?"

"About the little deal we made after I caught him cookin' the last time." Something about the way he says the word "deal" makes my blood turn cold. I swallow hard.

"What deal? And what in the hell are you talkin' about?" I demand tightly. I have to fight to keep the rising panic out of my voice. My mouth has already gone bone dry and I can taste acid, hot and bitter, rising at the back of my throat. I mean, when the hell did he catch Dad? And more importantly, why the hell didn't Dad tell us?

"It was his idea that he owe me somethin' big in exchange for keepin' mum 'bout the whole thing." Coons continues, casual as anything, "Now, I've kept my end of the bargain but he ain't kept his. It's been gettin' on' bout six months now an' I still ain't seen a damned penny."

Oh Christ. I knew Dad wasn't exactly the brightest bulb in the box but shaking a cop down? I swear to God, sometimes it's like Dad's got shit for brains.

"Your Daddy owes me a good deal of money, understand?"

He sucks in a breath and I realize with numb surprise that my hands have begun to shake uncontrollably. I shove them deep into the pockets of jacket and clench them into tight fists.

"See, how it works is, if he don't keep his end of the bargain, then I don't keep mine. An' if he don't pay up real soon,well, I kin tell you right now that that man's gonna be in a whole heap of trouble."

Denial kicks in and I find myself saying furiously,

"You're lyin'. Dad would _never_ make a deal with the law to get outta charges. He ain't that dumb."

"Seems to me you don't know your father too well."

"Trust me, mister, I know my daddy." I snap and take a step off the porch towards Coons. He takes a step back, shrinking away from me. "He's a Tassey, an' I know for a _fact _that Tassey's don't run 'round bribin' the law."

"You know, I find that mighty hard to believe considerin' this ain't the first time that a Tassey in these here parts tried to shake me down into makin' a deal.'

"That's a pile of horseshit." I hiss but he ignores me, completely.

"Now, you listen here, girl, an' listen well." he says, shoving a bony finger at me, "Lord knows I've been patient. You tell John Tassey when you see him that I'll give him 'bout til the end of the month and if I ain't got that money...well don't be surprised if a deputy shows up round here an' starts pressin' them charges."

"Why don't you just tell him that yourself?" I practically spit.

"I been tryin' to but I can't seem to turn him up for the life of me."

"Ain't that your job?" His jaw visibly tightens at that and I know I've pushed another button.

"I hope for your sake that your Daddy realizes the gravity of our deal." He says, turning sharply on his heel, heading back towards his truck. His words echo back to me like a knell. "'Cause in thirty days time I'm comin' back an' he better have that money, you hear?"

Anger pulsing through my veins, I bite back the hot acidic words pounding in my head and turn my back on him, probably not for the last time. I begin heading back up the porch's slippery steps and into the house; I don't bother looking back, not wanting to see him demonstrate his trademark cocky-ass swagger, knowing that it'll just piss me off even more.


End file.
